Xandilif stared up into the sky in confusion as a cold rain pelted her mercilessly, beading off her heavy armor in icy rivulets. An occasional flash of lightning made up for the lack of a moon, lighting the rocky crag she sat on and the turbulent sea surrounding Tol Fennas, a rocky outcropping near Dol Amroth in Gondor.
"What deviltry is this..." the Champion muttered to herself. "I have yet to see it rain more than a spits-worth in Dol Amroth, just a short boat ride away it ALWAYS rains on this stupid rock like a troll pissing after a month long drunk. A curse it must be....the fecking bears must have angered a wizard. Ah well, it is a nice change from thrice-screwed Mordor. Been ages since I seen this much water...reminds me of Belfalas, or maybe I am just getting as soft as the Monk in my old age."
She snorted and ran a gauntleted hand through her roughly cropped black hair, shaking her head like a dog to dispel some of the cold water, to little effect. Across her back, the length of the greatsword SilverWand seemed to course with blue fire in time with the distant lightning. The champion had been sitting on the rocky island for several days now, having received a request from the Princess Lothiriel, the Lady Commander of the Swan Knights and Steward of Dol Amroth in the absence of her father, Prince Imrahil, to attend upon her.
The beautiful young woman dressed in silken gowns of sea blue, delicately enhanced with cleverly stitched swans adorning the bodice, had seemed truly relieved when Xandilif swaggered into the Court of the Prince in Dol Amroth, despite her learned advisors looking askance at the Champion and her rough and easy manner with the Royal Princess, a shared history not spoken of as the Princess expressed her concerns.
"I know my father the Prince is sure that the threat of the Heirs of Castamir and their piratical goals were ended once and for all when their plot to choke the life out of Dol Amroth was thwarted, but our spymasters have been receiving strange and grave indications that a large Corsair fleet remains a threat, hidden somewhere through dark sorceries or devious craft. A scrap of doggerel was uncovered and decoded by a turncoat who was taken captive when Balakhor, the foul leader of the Heirs of Castamir, fell. He says the code has been changed, but he is convinced that the note mentioned Khaloss, a former lieutenant of Balakhor and the village of Makham Jurrar, as well as a pictograph which he says depicts the full moon.
The Princess set her graceful hand on the elleth's armored shoulder, causing her advisors to mutter anew. "This spy feels a meeting must have been planned, a secret meeting that will bode ill for noble Dol Amroth. You have ever been a stanch defender of this city, mighty Xandilif and I would not call you from your tasks in the Black Land idly. Will you go now and see if you can gain knowledge on Tol Fennas, and perhaps even unsettle our foes plans? For the honor of Dol Amroth...for my father the noble Prince Imrahil...and for myself, in memory of vouchsafed confidences we have shared? Please, Lif? I can trust no one else."
And so against her better judgment, Silverwand's Slut found herself keeping a lonely vigil in the rain, staring down into the scattered fishing boats and tents that made up the the tiny cove of Makham Jurrar on barren Tol Fennas. The lights of Dol Amroth were dim in the remote distance, as if mocking her. She took a long pull from the flask of grog she held, trying not to be disgusted with herself for doing the bidding of soft eyes and gentle entreaties.
"This is idiocy," she grumbled to herself. "I could be somewhere killing something worthwhile, not babysitting a little fisherman's nest because a silly scrap of a Princess asked me pretty please. If any of those addlepated uruk gobblers back in Udun ever hear about this, I will need to kill each and every one of em to get a little peace again."
She was just about to see to lighting a small fire to heat the bit of food she still had left when a sound on the beach below caused her to stop. Definitely the sound of wood scraping over stone. She peered down into the rain-lashed darkness and could barely make out a new bulky shadow on the beach below, a small boat that had not been there before, dragged up onto the stony spit, with a handful of man shaped shadows grouped around it.
A flare of flame as one of the shadows lit a pipe, feeling themselves secure, and the Banshee could make out the brightly colored silks of a Corsair. "So...Castamir still has some heirs indeed, Princess Lacey Pants was right! A nest perhaps is Makham Jurrar, but not of fishermen." the champion muttered as she crept down the hillside to within earshot of the shadows. Their voices were thick with the accents of Harad.
The man who must have been Khaloss was giving orders as the Banshee could finally make out their words clearly."...Beyond that, I wish you Zaroff, and Satosh as well to be out of sight over there with crossbows in case of treachery. I trust this Gondoran dog not at all. I would sell much for coin, but not the freedom of my people. However, should not to look a gifted goat too closely in the mouth, or any other opening. The meeting will be brief, he will get the location of his coin, he will tell us the course we must plot past the monitors into the harbor of Dol Amroth and his word that when the moment arrives the sentries will be gone or dispatched. After that, if will be a simple matter of fear and fire while the armies of their false King are far away. A ripe jewel for the taking, and vengeance for that upstart bitch humiliating Captain Balakhor. She is a jewel for the taking as well."
A slow rage was building in the Banshee's soul. A traitor to Dol Amroth, willing to sell her people to death and slavery over what, a handful of coins...and under the very nose of King Elessar. Beyond that, she did not like the tone in the Corsair's voice when he mentioned Lothiriel. She did not like it one little bit.
Khaloss stilled and suddenly glanced up as a sea bird's call, or what seemed to be a sea bird's call, drifted in with the tide. "Hissttt...to your places my cutthroats, Thorongil arrives."
The name of the traitor caused the Champion to tilt her head even as she swept SilverWand off her back in preparation for whatever was about to occur. Thorongil...now where had she heard that name before?
